


(feels like the crowd is sayin') gimme gimme more

by mainland



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/F, Genderbending, Humiliation, Train Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mainland/pseuds/mainland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chanyeol gropes Zitao on the train. (That's it, that's the fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(feels like the crowd is sayin') gimme gimme more

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ.

It seems like an eternity before the train arrives at the station. Zitao has been elbowed, shoved, and even had her feet stepped on by the last businessman who shouldered his way to the front of the platform, knocking Zitao into Chanyeol and almost dislodging her armful of shopping bags. At the memory, Zitao tightens her fingers on the strings of her bags—just in time, as the train hisses open, and the crowd surges forward and sweeps her through the doors straight to the back of the carriage. Zitao bumps up hard against the bolted back door, wincing when her ponytail snags briefly, and thinks, not for the first time, that they should have just had dinner in Shibuya and waited out the evening rush hour. She cranes to look over her shoulder. She can only see Kris, several metres away, and Sehun and Jongin next to Chanyeol on Zitao's left, but judging by the way Kris seems to be talking down at the space in front of her, Zitao thinks everyone made it on board.  
  
Lowering her shopping bags so they rest on the tips of her leather boots, Zitao gingerly leans her head against the frame of the back door and deliberately doesn't think about germs on public transport. She'll shower when she gets back to the hotel, she tells herself. There's nothing Zitao wants more than to bathe, and maybe stretch for thirty minutes to ease out the weariness of a day playing tourist. Jongin looks half-asleep already, her face buried in Sehun's neck. Zitao is impressed she lasted this long, but then Jongin had been the one to suggest Tokyo for spring break in the first place. Kris looks fresh as a winter rose. Chanyeol has her big headphones on, her fingers tapping an absent rhythm against her bare forearm. Zitao licks her lips, eyes fluttering shut, and wishes she could reach the water bottle in her purse. It's hot, with bodies pressed up against her on all sides, but the steady rattling of the train and the coolness of the metal at her temple is oddly soothing.  
  
She has almost completely drifted off when she feels the brush of fingers over the hem of her skirt. Zitao chalks it up to the sway of the train, but not a minute later the touch repeats itself, so she reaches back, and digs her nails into the soft flesh of a wrist. The instigator hisses, and Zitao opens her eyes. She looks at the hand she's caught, follows the line of its arm up across pale collarbones to a guileless face framed by a few escaped orange curls. Chanyeol must have edged her way over when Zitao wasn't looking. Zitao relaxes, releases Chanyeol's wrist with the beginnings of an apologetic smile, but then Chanyeol tugs her headphones off, and stumbles, slamming Zitao up against the wall with her full body weight.  
  
Chanyeol isn't heavy, but she's a couple inches taller and has the force of the full train pushing her into Zitao, pinning Zitao's arms against the back door. Zitao tries to wiggle free. "Chanyeol," she says. "Unni, you're squishing me."  
  
Chanyeol shifts closer, and Zitao feels the press of round breasts against her shoulder blades. The fingers skim over her thigh again, and then hands are cupping the back of Zitao's legs, thumbs stroking into the dips behind her knees. It tickles, and Zitao's legs buckle on instinct, but train is packed too tight for her to lose her balance. She tries to twist around, suddenly unsure if they really are Chanyeol's hands. They're palming up her bare thighs now, smoothing along the sides and back, massaging the firm flesh right below the curve of her ass. Zitao can't see where Chanyeol's arms disappear to, but Chanyeol is looking away to the side, her lips parted in thought.  
  
Struck with doubt, Zitao struggles anew, but then teeth nip around the upper cartilage studs in her ear and hot breath sinks into her skin. Zitao can smell a strong, sweet musk—a combination of all the perfumes Chanyeol sprayed on herself that afternoon. "Chanyeol," Zitao whispers, stilling. "What are you doing?"  
  
The hands slide to the front and between her thighs, grabbing them with the thumbs fitted up the inner crease of Zitao's legs like Chanyeol is about to pry Zitao in half. Zitao rises slightly on her toes, but Chanyeol just holds her, rocking her hips into Zitao's ass in time with the train. It's already hot in the train but Zitao feels the beginnings of a burn in her lower back, her stomach, and the tops of her cheeks, like flicking on the switch of a slow flame. She's not afraid of being discovered, not yet. Chanyeol is barely moving. Zitao holds her breath, but Chanyeol just strokes the seam of Zitao's panties, rubbing small circles into her skin with the guitar-callused tips of her fingers.  
  
The train pulls into the next station. The crowd shifts when the doors open, and to Zitao's horror, that's when Chanyeol moves back to cup her ass, firmly grabbing both cheeks and kneading. The back of Zitao's skirt is shucked up dangerously high, and now, as passengers continue to file out, she can feel the breeze of the underground ventilation against her upper thighs. Chanyeol rolls her wrists, and it lifts Zitao's skirt, makes it obvious what she's doing now with fewer bodies to hide it. Chanyeol hooks a few fingers under Zitao's underwear, snapping the elastic against her round cheek, and the sting goes straight between Zitao's legs. Zitao bites down on her lip, and checks discreetly on Sehun and Jongin. They're dozing on each other, thankfully oblivious.  
  
Chanyeol knocks Zitao's legs apart with her own, propping her foot on the thick bottom ledge of the carriage back door. It brings her knee high enough for Zitao to straddle with her boots still touching the floor, and Zitao tries not to whimper when Chanyeol pulls her back by the hips and pushes her forward at the waist, so her crotch is grinding into Chanyeol's leg. Her ass is raised, in perfect position for Chanyeol to spread the cheeks with her big hands and skim her fingers over the fabric and down between, till they touch the slickness already wetting Zitao's panties. Zitao wants to roll her hips, wants to fuck herself against Chanyeol's leg, but they're still elbow to elbow with Tokyo's everyday commuters. The train doors are closing, new passengers swelling the crowd, and Zitao feels a wash of relief to be penned in again, suffocated but anonymous.  
  
Chanyeol flicks her blunt thumbnail over the wet spot on Zitao's panties, then withdraws her hands. She keeps one by the side of Zitao's thigh to hold her in place, but the other sneaks under the hem of Zitao's buttoned blouse. Her fingers trace over Zitao's ribs, knuckles brushing the underside of her breast, then reach to curl over the cup of Zitao's bra and yank it down. Zitao's mouth falls open. She squirms at the sudden strain of her breast against her blouse, still half in the bra, nipple caught between Chanyeol's fingers, and shakes her ponytail over her shoulder to cover Chanyeol's hand from view. Chanyeol pinches once, leaning close so her lips brush Zitao's ear when she murmurs, "Your tits are almost as nice as Kyungsoo's." She pulls her hand out of Zitao's shirt.  
  
It breaks a little of the daze, hearing Chanyeol's throaty, dispassionate compliment. Zitao shrugs her shoulders, trying to create some space between her and Chanyeol, but Chanyeol licks the edge of Zitao's jaw, a slow swipe with her tongue flat. Zitao shudders, imagining that wide tongue somewhere else. She tilts her head back, trying to move off Chanyeol's knee and catch her mouth in a kiss—they can make out a little here if they're discreet, Zitao figures, and continue the rest in their hotel, but Chanyeol isn't having it. She pins Zitao by the waist, burying her face in Zitao's hair, and slides her hand under Zitao's skirt and past the band of her underwear.  
  
"Chanyeol." Zitao sucks in a breath at the first touch of fingertips on her clit. She's suddenly aware of how wet she is, her panties soaked through so she can feel a stickiness on Chanyeol's leg when she shifts her weight back and forth. She wants to kiss Chanyeol so badly, but Chanyeol makes her face the wall and it chokes a whine from Zitao's throat.  
  
"Holy shit," Chanyeol mutters into her ear. "Guess I didn't need to bring lube." She reaches with her middle finger, draws a light line from back to front over Zitao's cunt, and Zitao can feel the slickness that collects when Chanyeol strokes over her clit again.  
  
"You planned—you watch too much hentai," Zitao manages through a gasp. Chanyeol pushes three fingers down along Zitao's cunt in answer. The sudden full, broad contact of it makes Zitao arch and grind down, but Chanyeol undulates her fingers, then curls her hand and takes it out of Zitao's panties. She hooks her arm around Zitao's neck and splays her fingers an inch from Zitao's nose. The full length of them glisten in the train's fluorescent lights, and Chanyeol scissors them in mid-air to show off the sticky webbing in between. She digs her chin in Zitao's shoulder, making them look for all the world like two teens sharing a clandestine schoolgirl secret. Her other hand finds its way back to Zitao's nipple.  
  
"Look at this," Chanyeol demands, low and soft. "My leg is fucking drenched from your pussy."  
  
"That's not true," Zitao says. Chanyeol snorts and grabs Zitao's chin tight between her wet fingers, smearing slick on Zitao's cheek and jaw, before she brings her hand to her own mouth with her forearm along Zitao's throat. Zitao watches Chanyeol lick her hand out of the corner of her eye. "Does it taste good?" Zitao asks, daring and breathless.  
  
Chanyeol muffles a laugh, and for the first time Zitao realizes how quick Chanyeol's chest is heaving against her back, how turned on Chanyeol must be as well. "Really fucking good, you health nut," Chanyeol mumbles, and then, "I want to open you up in the middle of this train and lick you clean."  
  
Zitao's fingers scramble at Chanyeol's arm against her neck. "Yes," she agrees, panting. "Yes, okay. When we get to the hotel—"  
  
"Fuck that," Chanyeol says, and squeezes Zitao's breast almost hard enough to hurt. This time when she sticks her hand in Zitao's panties, she slides her middle finger up and in. Immediately, Zitao clenches down on the intrusion, feeling dizzy. Chanyeol crooks the finger and thumbs Zitao's clit at the same time, and Zitao's fingers are turning white on the bolted divider of the back door. Her feet touch the floor, but her legs are hot and shaking, and Zitao's not sure she can stand without the support of Chanyeol's leg. It's been achingly slow, butterfly teasing, since Chanyeol started, but it seems like Chanyeol's run out of patience. She fucks Zitao with quick, deep thrusts, adding a second finger, then a third, rubbing relentless circles over Zitao's clit, and Zitao is trying to stay still but her hips meet every in-out pump. The crotch of her panties are so wet they cling like a second skin where Chanyeol's hand doesn't reach, the stickiness of her thighs obvious every time she squeezes around Chanyeol's leg. She can feel the slick between the lower cheeks of her ass from every time she rocked backward, and the messiness makes Zitao lightheaded.  
  
When Zitao comes, it's with a jerk of the shoulders and a half-choked gasp, her forehead falling against the frame of the train's back door. A boy in a school uniform glances over with a furrowed brow, and Chanyeol pats Zitao with her clean hand, excusing her friend's clumsiness in broken Japanese while Zitao squirts hot between Chanyeol's fingers. Zitao breathes hard through her mouth, trying not to make a sound as Chanyeol fingers her through the aftershocks, pressing down firm on Zitao's clit like she can suppress her sensitivity.  
  
"Okay," Zitao whispers, then repeats so Chanyeol can hear: "Okay."  
  
Chanyeol shakes her head, still massaging Zitao in slow circles. "We still have ten minutes," she promises into Zitao's ear. "And the second one is always better."  
  
Zitao elbows her weakly, shaking her head. "Come on, Chanyeol," she whines. Her face feels so hot, the clearheaded relief that comes after an orgasm making her too-aware of the train car around them, all the people who just unknowingly witnessed her having sex. Her reflection in the dark glass of the back door catches her eye: she's bright red, bitten mouth hanging open, bangs slightly damp.  
  
Chanyeol kisses the back of her neck, and then again, her lips parted enough for Zitao to feel the hard edge of teeth. She scatters Zitao's nape with coaxing kisses, the tip of her tongue darting out here and there until Zitao is moaning, a faint heat humming again in her chest. Chanyeol starts moving her fingers, this time scissoring them slow and wide. Zitao closes her eyes and leans on the doorframe, ready to let a second tide crash through her limp body.  
  
Chanyeol starts undoing the buttons of Zitao's shirt.  
  
Zitao's eyes snap open, her body tensing a split second too late; Chanyeol has her blouse undone to the band of her bra, the strap of Zitao's shoulder bag now cutting through her bare cleavage. "Chanyeol," Zitao hisses, but Chanyeol wrenches down and Zitao's breasts pop out of her bra into the open air. Zitao bites back a cry, hunching her shoulders, and Chanyeol crowds her against the back door, angled to block Zitao from wandering eyes. The train is whistling into another station, the automated speakers reciting its destination.  
  
Chanyeol pulls Zitao's nipples, taut in the chilly air, and tries to stretch her fingers across to grab the expanse of both full breasts. She only just fails to succeed, watching one round breast bounce out in the reflective glass of the door. "Your tits could probably fit together in one of Kris's hands," she comments, jiggling her handful. "Has she ever tried? Did you ask?"  
  
Zitao shakes her head, not daring to speak. She's afraid of getting caught, but only because it would be mortifying. She can't ignore the fire stripping through her veins, the way her hips are riding Chanyeol's hand. "Unni," she pleads, knowing she's hit the right note when Chanyeol's ministrations quicken.  
  
"I'm covering you from the back," Chanyeol tells her, lightly slapping Zitao's breasts. "But there's people in the next car." She shoves Zitao forward, and Zitao chokes back a hiss when her nipples press against the cold glass of the door. Her breasts hang forward out of her shirt, sliding over against the smooth, dirty glass, and for the first time Zitao takes notice of the carriage behind theirs. There's a door opposite them, not even two metres away, and several passengers in view. Zitao can see their faces, so she knows they could see her, too, if any of them turned their heads. One man in a suit is standing in profile view. It's too risky, and she tries to pull back but Chanyeol pins her between the shoulders, mashing her tits against the glass. Zitao groans, her cunt twitching. "That's my good girl," Chanyeol coos into Zitao's neck. "You're such a little slut, Tao, I wish Kris knew." She's fingering Zitao quickly now, hard thrusts up to the knuckle. "I wish she was in front of us, your big fucking tits up in her face. Shit, I wish one of those old guys in the next car would fucking turn around." Chanyeol catches Zitao's mouth, sticks her tongue between Zitao's lips and lets Zitao suck on it hungrily. The angle is wrong and they're getting spit over their chins, but Zitao still kisses Chanyeol like she's starving.  
  
The second time is better. The pleasure is rising faster, flooding full-bodied through Zitao's chest and limbs. Chanyeol's hand is stuttering, but she still has a good rhythm over Zitao's clit and she stops restraining Zitao against the door, grabbing a handful of her ponytail instead and tugging the elastic out of Zitao's hair. Zitao collapses forward, her long hair falling loose over her face, over her bare tits, her cunt clenching around Chanyeol's fingers like a vise. Her panties are already drenched, completely useless, and this time when she comes it soaks through the thin cloth in an instant, one hot drop sliding down the side of Chanyeol's thigh.  
  
"Fuck," Chanyeol mutters. Zitao winces as Chanyeol eases her fingers out and drops her foot from the door ledge. Zitao has to slump against the wall, her legs weak without Chanyeol's knee bracing her weight. One of her own knees is quivering, her body still going through the aftershocks. Each time her clit twitches Zitao has to squeeze her eyes shut.  
  
"Hey, our stop is soon. Tao, c'mon." Zitao lets Chanyeol tuck her in her bra and button up her shirt. Chanyeol's right hand is shaking a little, and she holds it gingerly, trying not to dirty Zitao's top, but it's a bit of a lost cause. Zitao inhales through her nose, trying to steady her breathing. Chanyeol's face is flushed, her eyes bright and hair messy. Zitao deliberately slackens her body, lets Chanyeol manhandle her back into a presentable state, and rewards Chanyeol with a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist after Chanyeol fixes her shirt collar. Maybe it's the afterglow, but Zitao suddenly feels so fond.  
  
And so gross, she thinks, scrunching her face up at the wet squelch between her legs when she faces Chanyeol. Not breaking eye contact, Zitao makes an executive decision and slips her hand up the back of her own skirt. Two quick steps later, and she's pressing her wadded up underwear into Chanyeol's dirty hand, as Chanyeol complains, "My fingers are seriously cramping. My leg too. My leg is  _covered_ in come. What am I supposed to do with these?"  
  
Zitao shrugs. She runs her fingers along the inside of her own thigh absently, tracing through the slick mess and wondering how much of it will drip past the hem of her skirt. Maybe she can find a bathroom when they get off the train, take Chanyeol up on that offer to eat Zitao clean. "I can gag you with them at the hotel?"  
  
Chanyeol considers it, and stuffs the ruined panties in the pocket of her hoodie.


End file.
